Young at Heart

I woke at 4am after having my failing at uni dream, yet again. My only recurring dream. No flying, or sex dreams for me. I have never had a sex dream, ever. I got up and had a piss. I love the stillness of the early morning, the quiet, the solitude. And I am lucky enough to fall back to sleep immediately. Both Sam and I can do that. (I’ve never understood people who have trouble sleeping)

I woke again at 5am and tossed and turned and contemplated getting up. The 5am dark is sublime. Just that crack of light, a hint, a tatse.

I woke again at 7.20am and it was light by then and I got up. I tip-toed around because Sam was still asleep. I sat down on the bed gently and lent over to pick up my track pants, I must have squeezed my tummy and I did the biggest fart as my torso was parallel to the floor.

“BARRAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Lovely,” said Sam’s voice feebly from the other side of the bed.

It just came out, like it was beyond my control. Involuntary, is what I would have called it. Quite unexpected. I just leant over to collect my clothes from the bedroom floor and...

Straight across the bed to Sam.

“Just lovely,” is what comes out of Sam’s mouth next. I hear the doona being pulled over his head. A lot of rustling of cotton and what not.

I laughed, of course, farts are funny. Don’t exactly know why, but they are. Maybe, there is a childish part to all of us, way beyond adulthood. I hope so, anyway. Well, not just farts, of course, but somewhere deep inside a small part of us has to remain young at heart, marvelling at wonder.

Sometimes I Just Go Shopping. Yes, Me.

I bought second hand CDs from the op-shop for $1 each and I spent the afternoon loading them into iTunes.

John Farnham, Marvin Gaye, Pauline Henry, Norah Jones, Billy Joel, Incognito, James Brown, Fugees, Vince Jones, Al Green.

What else are days off for? (Writing? What? Writing what? Oh fuck, I can’t be arsed writing. There are so many things I could be doing, if I weren’t writing.)

Wasting my life? No, I wouldn’t say that.

After that, I had a nap on the couch. Lovely.

That’s why I work 3 days a week, baby. Get out of jail. Have more time off. Enjoy yourself more. Buy more shit. And second hand shit doesn’t add to the capitalist dream. It is outside the free market economy, Liberal Party, revolving Prime Minister, GDP wet dream, so that has to be a good thing, right? (Do you like that?) I like shopping more if it is a political act.

I know I should be writing, what is your point?

Work Problems

There are problems at work, Melissa told me. Mistakes have been made. (boss) Tony’s apparently not pleased. Melissa said he has been giving her shit for two weeks and it hasn’t been pleasant.

Giving her shit, I thought?

Contain the contagion, was my next thought. But no, apparently not. She was dumping it on me.

So, there are problems?

But, is it me, or is it Melissa. It was hard to know who?

She has a lousy memory, she really forgets everything. I knew about one mistake, as Tony spoke to me about it when Melissa was away. And I only did it, what turns out to be, the wrong way after I confirmed it with Melissa that it was the way to do it. I tried hard not to say that to Tony… but I think I tactfully slipped it in. (I’m standing up for myself now a days, sorry if that doesn’t work for you.)

She forgot to send the English figures from Wednesday to the next Monday. She said I could do them in future. (Because she forgot to do them?)

The other mistake, I am sure was HR’s fault, some chick who is sick and having a lot of time off. Melissa had mentioned it in passing, and when I asked her directly, she implied it was my fault, by saying she’d asked me to sort out the figures for the sick woman’s extended leave. And I did, but, as far as I knew, that finished last September.

Mellissa didn’t say it very forcefully, like it was still an excuse, for something she forgot to do, yet again. I have emails with HR saying it finished in September. So, did Melissa get further instructions that I don’t know about?


I decided not to worry about it. Oh, fuck it, who cares. I get stuff right… and I can’t help but suspect Melissa is blaming me for stuff she’s done. But that always seems to be my work story. Is that always the work story? Actually, yes, I have always found that to be the work story. If someone can lie and cheat and blame the shit for which they are responsible, on you, they will. In my opinion, that is the human condition.
Oh, who cares, whatever. I should be doing more artistic pursuits, anyway. That novel isn’t going to write itself…

Drug Rehab

David called from the Uber on his way to the airport heading to Thailand for drug rehab. (He’s sworn me to secrecy, but telling you guys doesn’t count)

Prescription drugs. I think it was valium in the beginning. Then it was anti-anxiety drugs. He works really hard, teaching all over the world, is at everyone’s call, so many people rely on him to get through life. He is the guru. He supports a multitude of people. I call them sycophants. David laughs at that.

Then he comes home and crashes.

I've questioned his doctors, for some time. (Questioning David about his doctors) They have given him whatever drugs he wants. Essentially, David has been taking the Heath Ledger mix for years.

What prompted the change? He took his usual drug combo and fell asleep in the bath and nearly did a Whitney. That scared him. And it must be exhausting, it is exhausting, the black moods and the crying when he is home alone. He said it was. He said he can’t do it anymore.

“My uncle, my mother, it will all come out, I guess,” he says with a flourish. Over protected, the only Greek son. (molested by his uncle as a kid)

“That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?” I say.

“It has to be something,” he says. “I hope it does come out. Get it cleared. Gone. I want it to be…”

“It may be none of those things.”

“There has to be something.”

“Whatever it is…”

“Whatever it is,” says David.

He sounded nervous, as you would be nervous, essentially, off into the unknown. He wanted to talk. He is going to spend 28 days in rehab.

“How did you find this place?” I ask. “I hope it isn’t doctor’s without degrees.”

“I’ve done my research, don’t you worry about that,” David says. “Do you think I am stupid?”

“No darling,” I say. “Far from stupid.”

“You’d never guess who runs the place?”

Shane’s boyfriend Tully, who David has fallen out with in recent years, his mate.

“You are kidding me,” I say.

“How many degrees separation?” asks David.

“Do you think he’ll say anything to Tully?”

“I’ve spoken to him about it,” said David. “He assured me that would be against doctor patient confidentiality.”

“Is he a doctor?”

“Ha ha,” says David. “You know what I mean.”

We laugh at the prospect. He says I am the only one who makes him laugh and snaps him out of it, if only for the time we speak. He says everyone else doesn’t know what to say. I just say it.

“What kind of fucken guru are you, anyway?”

“Shhhh,” he says. “Don’t give it away.”

"So, will you be back in 28 days?"

"No, I'm going straight to Nepal, afterwards."

"So many sycophants, so little time," I say.

"I'll see you at the end of January."

Wet

I was up at 6am.

7.20am, ready to leave, and the rain comes down, as I was about to walk out the door. Grrr. Isn’t it always the way.  (What law do we call that?) 

I like my walks in the morning, and I need the exercise, but not so much in the rain.

I tried waiting at the Brunswick Street tram stop, as the worst of the rain fell. Under the glass shelter, with a old woman with a shopping jeep. There was a big white and orange sign cable tied to the post, apparently, the trams had been replaced by busses, due to tram rail works, there was a map of the works, but I stopped reading before I got to that. How do you expect a short bus to replace a long tram, I ask you? (I asked myself) The buses aren’t articulated, I was pretty sure about that.

I’m not paying $4 to go two stops on a stinky internal combustion engine sardine can, fuck that, I think. The rain eases, a bit, and I pop my umbrella open and walk. It is humid and wet.

I catch a tram at St Vincent’s Plaza. I’m saturated with rain, or sweat, or both? Whatever? All I know is liquid is dripping down my face. People push onto the old, single-car tram. The air is damp, so are the people. The smell of wet person is in the air. 7.30am and the tram is packed? What gives? Walking is so much nicer, I think.

I’m wet. I can feel water dripping down my face. I’ve got a seat, at least, and I sit perfectly still. The rain water drips off my hair and down the back of the collar of my shirt. It gives me a twitch.

I was in the lift at 7.47am.

I’m first one in the office, it is usually either me or Jason Wang. I just get up early, and I live close, it is no real achievement, I can assure you.

My hair was saturated. I was wet, as I sat at my desk. I exhale. Brrrrrr.

I switch my computer on.

Jason arrives.

After discovering all the unreleased Rolling Stones songs, recently, and there are many of them, I also discovered that most of them are on YouTube. So, I put in my earpods and listen. I make a YouTube playlist. I don’t need to buy the music when I can make a YouTube playlist.

Rolling Stones Come on Sugar (1976)

Rolling Stones Still a Fool – this song is by The Rolling Stones and appears on the compilation album Genuine Black Box 1961-1974 (2010).

Rolling Stones Stuck Out All Alone (1968)

Rolling Stones Highway Child (1968) Beggars Banquet Outtake

Rolling Stones Dirty Work Acoustic Sessions

Rolling Stones Under the Radar (2005)

Rolling Stones You Can't Cut The Mustard

Rolling Stones Fast Walking Slow Talking (1973) Goats Head Soup Outtake

Rolling Stones Keep It Cool - 1983 Undercover outtake - Love this

Rolling Stones The Way She Held Me Tight (1978)

Rolling Stones Do You Think I really Care (1978)

Rolling Stones Everlasting is my love (1978) Keith

I’m working on my own, Melissa has the day off, so nobody takes any notice of what I am doing. The music plays in my ears. I wonder about my phone ringing, but any messages that are left on my phone come up in my emails, anyway. Besides, I have everyone pretty well trained by now to email me.

The work day slowly begins.

Everyone else slowly arrives. I can’t hear their hellos over the Rolling Stones, but I can pretty much guess the timing of their hello and I respond accordingly. -->
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Another Decapitated Rat

Another decapitated rat disembowelled at the bottom of the stairs at 7am. Lovely. Good morning world. That is Milo's spot to leave his prey. Every morning that I come down to find his latest victim I am thankful that we sleep with our bedroom door closed. Otherwise, I reckon... oh... middle of the night standing on my chest, carcass hanging out of his mouth... 'oiw'

I'm just nervous that one morning I won't notice and I'll get intestines squished between my toes before I have even had time to fully open my eyes.

I'm not really complaining, mind you, Milo is just doing his job. He's really fast. He probably kills two rats per week, fortunately he doesn't bring them all inside. Big cities have rats. When we are between cats, shall we say, it gets to the stage when we can hear the rats running around in the ceiling at night, that's when I know it is time to get a new cat. When we have a cat, we never hear rats scratching about, we just find their dead bodies.

Still, 7am is far too early to be contemplating that another small creature has lost its life.

Weird Weather

Fuck me, what happened to the summer? Well, spring? We've been plunged back into winter. This is weird, even for Melbourne, and I love Melbourne weather, I'm not one to knock it. I love the seasons of Melbourne. I love the hot and the cold, the sun and the rain. But this weather is odd. We are a week off summer and it is winter again, now that is just weird.

Our Hot IT Guy, Tim

Our hot IT guy, Tim, laughed at my ambivalence at getting remote access set up but, you know, it was nice spending time with him. He's also a lovely guy, really lovely. And I found out today that he smells nice. 

He looked at me with that you-are-not-like-other-boys look. A couple of times. When we were having trouble with the set up.

"Are you going to sign on over the weekend?"

"I am never going to sign on to it."

He laughed nervously.

"But seriously..."

"I'm never going to use it," I say. "I had one sick day and this is the shit I have to put up with.

He laughed. It wouldn't work because HR had failed to maintain one of their systems, and my contact numbers wouldn't work with the dial in system... now there was a surprise, HR not maintaining systems, more so than the dial up failing.

 

I Left Because I Could

I went to work and I made it until lunch time. There were a few nervous eyes when I coughed. I am coughing like a dead man, you know, hacking up a lung. (I thought it would be funny to cough, cough, cough, and then threw a liver on the desk [well, from where am I going to get a lung?] It made me chuckle to imagine the look on all their faces. Good thing I am to gaddam lazy to do such things)

Yeah, so I made it to lunch time. I got everything that had to be done immediately, then I left. Boredom? You know me well. You know if there is a chance to head home, I will. So, I did. I don't usually take sick days, but when I do, it is like eating sugar, I just want more.

Of course, now my boss is getting me remote access. Of course. I will never use it, which is the reason I have never set it up thus far. I don't think about work once I have left the office, who are you kidding?

I'm Sick

I’m sick, like I have a temperature, sick. I have a hacking cough, that is how it started yesterday. I have been sick for two days and in bed today, desperately trying to feel better for work on Tuesday. Why do we try to get better for work on Tuesday? Quite frankly, they should be processing my day off as a sick day?

I’m in bed, wrapped up in my doona, like I have to keep warm like my life depends on it. I’m really hot, but the heat is somehow comforting. I’m toasting under this doona, so much so that the bedroom stinks of sweat.

Sam accuses me of being Pig-Pen.

“POOH… OO!”

(Is it the stench of immanent death, I wonder?)

“I don’t have the energy to fart…”

“It must be leaking.”

“It’s not.”

“You just don’t know.”

“I’d know.”

“You stink.”

“Your bedside manner leaves a little to be desired,” I croak.

(Even if he is cooking the third thing he suggested for dinner without a complaint)

“Stir-fried noodles with prawns?”

“No.”

“Zucchini pasta?”

“No… I don’t want anything.”

“Conjee?”

“Oh… yes… I could eat conjee.”

I get cold really easily, like when I go to the toilet, or whatever reason I get out of bed. I can feel the chill of my core really easily and I scamper back to bed.

I feel like shit, hot with no energy. The burning, somehow is comforting, compared to the cold.

Boo hoo!

 

Black Guys

I'm glad there are more black people in Australia, we've been a very white society for a very long time.

In fact, I wish I was twenty again, with this changed society, and going out and picking up boys and going to sex clubs, I surely would have been a keen participant. Ah, not now though, I’m not twentysomething anymore, which I really don’t care about at all, that time has passed, and I wouldn’t change the present for anything.

Move the Hell Over, Sharon

7.30am. I get out my spotty umbrella and walk to the Lansdowne Street tram stop. (I once had a black umbrella which Sam borrowed when his broke and then he broke mine. He replaced it with a poka dot umbrella and looked completely unconvinced when I complained about the replacement) I catch a tram on the corner of Victoria Parade because of the rain. I don’t want to be saturated by the time I get to work. It is one of those drizzling humid mornings.

Some little rat-faced bitch millennial was sitting with her bag next to her on the seat next to the wall. I thought she’d move the bag when I sat down, but she didn’t. She just went on sitting there with her foot on the opposite seat typing away furiously on her phone.

“Move the hell over, Sharon,” I want to say but, of course, I don’t say that. I wonder what she would have done, if I had. I chuckle to myself, as I plot her death for not moving over.

But she got off not long after, so what did I care really.

There were a couple of saturated office boys jogging in Collins Street in their shorts and singlets. Red and blue, stuck to their glistening, wet muscles. I saw them further back down Collins Street and they passed me just before I got to my building. One blonde, in the red singled, and one with dark hair in the blue singlet. 

Cute Wog Boy Lawyer

12pm. Heading outside. A cute wog boy lawyer in a blue suit came out of another lift opposite when I exited mine. He was looking down at his phone, as he walked in front of me. He went ahead of me in the revolving door. He was shorter than me and still looking down at his phone, so I could see his sexy neck as though he was on his knees taking it up the arse. Woo!

Okay. It was lunch time and I was hungry. What can I say?

Mean Girls

I notice 3 cats-bum receptionist-types heading towards me, this morning as I walked towards work. Each young and attractive, each with a hand in the air, holding take away coffees, almost all with exactly the same expression on their faces, versions of determined, is what I’d have called it. One looked weight of the world on her shoulders/determined. One looked determined/perky, licking her lips. The other looked determined/distracted, as if she was planning her route. Each one had bags of the same style over their arm. Each had on a wedding ring.

They looked like mean girls. “Bar, bar, bar-bar, ba, ba.”

They were coming at me. If they’d linked arms and high kicked for girl power, I would have been surprised.

I tried to imagine their husbands oh yes, they'd have husbands. Tony, Jason, Jesse. Of course, truthfully, I'd imagine Tony, Jason and Jesse in their undies, but maybe that is just me. Tony dressed up as panty pad man superhero, you know, like in the Libra ad. Jason wearing a cat’s skin like a cape, attached by the cat’s head on top of his head. Jesse in blue and red like superman. Each with a light sabre, each ready to defend their girls.

They swished by. “Bar, bar, bar-bar, ba, ba.”

I was secretly scared of them.

I know, the things you think as you walk to work, hey?

Still, it made me laugh, the whole thought process, and it put a whistle on my lips, as I walked the rest of the way to work.

Sublime Spring

The day sparkled in its crisp sunlight. The cobwebs seemed to be the finest silk spun between the leaves. The afternoon was golden. A perfect spring day.

Cold Friday Morning

It's cold. Buddy is in my lap. My friend is asleep on the couch, she has a bright red blanket over her, it looks like strawberry jam in the dim light. I've got Keith Richards playing in my ears, Crosseyed Heart. It is grey outside again, like winter has wiped its last tentacles over us. Buddy is keeping me warm. He stretches his head straight up in the air, I kiss his bulldog face.

Friday off. I'm back to having Thursdays and Fridays off. Apparently, the Tue, Wed, Thu every second week was just for a trial. Apparently, we can now ended it, if we chose. 

Yes, please. 

Lovely, back to normal hours. Two days in a row to myself. Keeps me sane. Apparently, I'm very quiet in the office. My last law firm taught me to keep my head down, otherwise you run the risk of getting it kicked off. You know, what drunk thugs might do to cats at 3am, buried up to their necks.

Always Fridays off, good old Friday. You've got to love something that comes last, is at the end, 'they' have normally got it right by then.

The Big Race

It hasn't stopped pouring with rain in Melbourne all morning, perhaps we could have a duck race?

Wouldn't you like to see floaties on those horses?

The rain fell hard, like a train pounding across the landscape. The courtyard filled with water, like a big pond, Lake Eyre'ish. (I was secretly hoping for pink flamingos) The air was heavy with moisture, you could taste it on your lips. You could feel the depth of the wet in the air, there was a dead echo. The sky was grey hanging low all day.

If it was winter we would have lit the fire, and made tea and eaten cake, but as it was not, we didn’t. We ate red bean with coconut milk and drank coffee.

We took Buddy to the dog park when the sun came out, but the grey clouds soon formed again and we had a big race of our own running home in the rain. Sam leading the way. Sam hates to get wet in the rain, I always joke that he must think his dead straight black hair is going to frizz, or something. I always think of Monica from Friends. Bud, the red head, is up the back. Buddy doesn't care how wet he gets, couldn't care less, so he brings up the rear. And me, with my salt and pepper hair, somewhere between the two, I'm in the middle trying to pretend that I don't care, all the while trying to hurry Buddy up so I don't get saturated. I see a few blocked drains out the corner of my eye, and I want to stop and find a big stick and unblock them, but I don't, I keep running, heading for home.

25 Years

It was my day off and I was getting anxious. I was waiting for Jill to send me the details of how to pick Bear up who [you are only supposed to use who for people, but what do you actually use here?] was arriving on the 3pm flight. Jill had sent me the details already, (twice, actually) a link, (the second time) which, when I opened it, it said error document not found. I sent Jill back a screen shot of the message. She clearly didn’t look at her messages, as she didn’t respond and it was right on the time I had to leave. Grrrr!

Did she want her dog picked up, or what?

I had to call her. “Oh really,” she casually replied. She finally sent me the details.

I left at 3pm, to be there at 3.30pm, 3.45pm.

I listened to music on my headphones until I got to the on-ramp of the freeway, when I pulled my head phones off and hit go on my GPS.

The traffic was pretty busy, I had no idea where I had to go, not really. And my GPS was silent. Although I knew it was somewhere near Keilor Park Drive. Damn thing! Where is that annoying woman giving me directions? Why wasn’t she speaking? If I knew my GPS was going to fuck up on me, I would have taken more notice of the map I checked before I left home. I have a good memory, if I’d looked at the map more closely, I could have done directions old school.

There I was fiddling around with my phone trying to get it to work as I drove at 100 k’s in heavy traffic on the freeway. I never use my phone when I am driving, never ever. I could see why now. I was trying to look at the screen, which was just stupid. Fuck it! I couldn’t get it to speak. Damn it I didn’t know where I was going. WTF!

None of this had gone smoothly, thus far.

The phone rang, (I could see it on the screen) I hit answer as it lay on the passenger seat of my car. I do that with calls I don’t know now, I just push answer and leave it on my desk, leave it on the coffee table, hold it in my hand. The phone rang again, so they were keen, and I raised it to my ear and said hello. (I was getting close to Keilor Park Drive)

“Hi, it is blah, blah, from blah blah, the plane is delayed, Bear won’t be here until closer to 5pm.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I’m sorry but I am not,” he said. “So, you shouldn’t get here until around 5pm.”

Grrrrrr. Bulla Road was coming up, I could turn off and sort the GPS problem. “Well, I am going to be there in a few minutes I’m already on my way, so…”

“Okay,” he said. Or something like it. “See you soon.”

Okay, I thought. You are calling me when I am due there? Really?

I turned off at Bulla Road. I pulled up in Dan Murphy’s car park. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I thought.

I threw the phone down next to me, next to my headphones on the passenger seat. My head phones? On the passenger seat. Oh? You idiot! Oh fuck it! They were still switched on, of course, the GPS was talking into my headphones.

I called Sam and whinged down the phone at him.

“Switch your headphones off,” he said. “Really?”

I set off again.

Turn off at Keilor Park Drive. Take the second exit at the round a bout, take the second exit at the round a bout, take the second exit at the round a bout, take the first exit at the round a bout, your destination is on the left.

I was already to be shitty with the pet pack people. “What do you mean you are calling me to tell me the plane is late when I am supposed to be here! Fuck you!” But they were too nice and it wasn’t their fault.

“You can wait in our waiting room,” said the nice pet pack person. “You can come and go as you please. Feel free to watch TV.”

So, the next thing is that I am watching Murder Mysteries with Dick van Dyke, until I think to myself, Anything would be better than this! I’ve got a script to get filled and my TattsLotto to lodge and at this rate I won’t be home in time to do either. So, I get up and head to the desk.

“I’m just heading down to the shops to waste time in a newsagent and a chemist,” I say. “There were shops just down the road?”

“If you want a newsagent and a chemist you will have to head around to the shopping centre…”

“The shopping centre?” I question.

“[Name of shopping centre], that is where you’ll find the shops you are looking for.”

“I used to work at the cinema there,” I said. “In another life time.” I laughed, to myself mostly.

When I left uni and I didn’t want to work on, let’s say the 25th floor, in a corporate office, as I do now, I managed cinemas for a few years. It was fun. It was something I never thought I’d do. I worked in the cinema bar as a uni job, just after I graduated they offered me the trainee managers job, and I took it. There was 5 of us, we were like the new breed of managers, or some such thing. All I knew was I didn’t want to work 9 to 5 corporate. I did that until I wanted to take 6 months off to travel to Europe and they wouldn’t give me 6 months leave of absence. They wanted to break the unions so they wanted everyone on board. (Am I remembering that right?)

“Yeah, well, the cinemas are still there.” Both the boys laughed, as if that was meant to mean something, what I didn’t know.

“Where is that?”

“Go down to Keilor Park Drive and turn left. Then turn right into Sharps Road and then turn right at the first set of traffic lights.”

“Go down here, turn left, turn right into Sharps Road and then take the first right?”

“Turn right at the first set of traffic lights.”

“Okay, got it. Left, right, right at the first lights?”

“Yes.”

Back to the dreaded Keilor Park Drive, I thought, as I got in the car. Right. Right at the lights. And that road just seemed to head off into the wilderness. Ah? Um? I guess I just keep going. Not in Kansas now. A round a bout. Another round a bout. A shopping centre sign, follow that, go that way. Up and around and another round a bout, another shopping centre sign, over a bridge and voila! The arsehole of the world, welcome. I parked right outside a door.

So, TattsLotto, get a script filled, waste an hour.

I headed around to the cinema. I couldn’t remember the place, not really. It all seemed so much smaller. I opened that cinema, with other managers.

I didn’t remember the stairs at the entrance.

I stood in the foyer taking it in, trying to remember it. Hiding in full sight, if you like. I’m sure it was bigger. The open space to the manager’s office longer.

I used to park on the upper level, I remembered that. Maybe, that was why I didn’t remember the stairs at the front?

Then I saw something familiar. I was kind of surprised, not something I expected.

There was [name of person] still working in the candy bar, twenty five years later, she was still there. Well, how about that, I thought. She looked the same, as if time hadn’t moved much, a bit older, a little stooped. I thought of all the things I’d done in 25 years. So many things.

We used to get on really well. She liked my black sense of humour and I used to say things that would make her mouth drop open and then laugh. She had a cackle. She was genuinely funny.

I didn’t say hello, she didn’t look over at me. Truth is I couldn’t remember her name, as I stood there.

Just as I thought that I should just say hello, [name of person] as I felt somewhat ashamed of deciding not to say hello, my phone rang. “Hello, just letting you know Bear has arrived and is ready to be picked up.”

I took one last look, it was one of the saddest things I have ever seen, and turned and headed down the stairs.